Random Record Review: Golden Avatar - A Change Of Heart (1976)

The chances are that a charity shop near you has a copy of this album. It'll be lurking somewhere amongst the James Last and Bert Kaempfert LPs. But does it really deserve to be relegated to the same vinyl limbo as some dead guy's record collection? How many times has your eye been caught by the attractive artwork and the medieval-style font before a little voice inside your head has warned you off? Years ago I owned this LP. I have no recollection of ever playing it, nor of any strong feelings about it one way or the other, yet I offloaded it in a vinyl clearout without so much as a backwards glance. The only reason I have a copy now is because a friend performed his own vinyl cull when he moved back to Wales. He went from a shoebox-sized static caravan in a Waltham Abbey trailer park to an airy detached house, but still he couldn't find any room in his life for Golden Avatar. What has this album done to provoke such callous indifference? Is it really that bad?

First, some back-story: Golden Avatar's main man was a New Hampshire-born Hare Krishna devotee, Michael Cassidy, who wanted to use his music to 'promote the values and concepts of Krishna consciousness'. He recorded his album at Golden Avatar studios in Los Angeles, but because his temple owned the studio, the project ended up being hijacked and released under the Golden Avatar name. Despite selling enough copies to go Gold in Canada, as well as shifting a sizeable number of units in the UK, Cassidy failed to make any money. Still, the LP's ubiquity would suggest that he at least succeeded in raising the profile of the Krishna movement. Apparently, during the 1970s, no walk down London's Oxford Street was complete until you'd been accosted by a shaven-headed, saffron robed Krishna disciple offering A Change Of Heart in exchange for a donation. By the time I was an Oxford Street regular in the 80s, vinyl had given way to vegetarian cook books. I'm not sure how history has judged them.

The LP's front cover, illustrated in a style reminiscent of a Victorian children's book (think Charles Kingsley's The Water-Babies), is alluring, but not as alluring as the roll-call of instruments detailed on the rear. I'm a sucker for sleeve notes that tease me with vibes, harp and flutes in addition to the usual guitar, bass and drums. Add in a special thanks to, amongst others, Richie Havens, Stevie Wonder and George Harrison, and you have my attention - what a shame then to discover that their contribution is one of inspiration rather than perspiration: you won't hear any of them on the LP. But this aside, does the music contained on the album live up to the promise? Well, yes and no.

World Beyond The Sky begins the album in unremarkable fashion, bringing to mind Year Of The Cat-era Al Stewart. Decent musicianship can't disguise the soft rock blandness of it all. A driving bass motif is the undoubted musical highlight.

A conga and cowbell intro kicks off Questions Questions which soon establishes a mystical Latin ambience. Vibes, strings and brass create a sense of grandeur, whilst another sinewy bass line worms itself into your brain. Tasty soprano saxophone spirals over staccato piano. And phased acoustic guitar escalates the dreamlike quality of a well-constructed track. Definitely up there with the best the album has to offer. But still nothing to warrant the Prog Rock label occasionally applied to the album.

Bhagavad-Gita has its feet in two mutually incompatible camps, failing to convince as either epic Ben-Hur-alike soundtrack (as promised by the massed horns and kettle drum flourishes of the intro), or as acoustic singer-songwriter whimsy. To add to the cut-and-shut feel of the track, the guitar solo, when it appears, sounds bolted on, out of place and too flashy for what little semblance of mood has already been established. Confused, outstays its welcome, and not even an interesting bass line to redeem it.

Seers Of The Truth makes up for the previous track's crimes. Cocktail lounge piano gives way to a hypnotic and meandering conga and bass guitar rhythm. Michael Cassidy's tasteful lead vocal finds itself elevated to another level by male and female backing singers, and an ethereal synthesizer line, muted trumpet, and harp create a chilled, heavenly atmosphere comparable to a vegan Planet Caravan.

You're Not That Body features a nice descending bass riff, a superb trumpet solo, tabla, and massed harmony vocals. Imagine a late 60s West Coast sunshine pop act falling into an unforced funk-lite groove.

The flip-side begins with the title track which, to my ears, is the turd in this particular LP's hot tub. A twee, cheesy nursery rhyme with lyrics about a transforming butterfly. It stoops to the level of musical theatre at one point: all ensemble choruses, harp and saccharine strings. Naff!

After an initial helping of non-descript, pedestrian singer-songwriter fayre, Swetadwip is saved by Crosby Stills and Nash-alike vocal harmonies, some adept guitar, and an almost proggy ambition in its 8 minutes and 15 seconds. It too skirts the edges of musical theatre, but somehow gets away with it. An interesting track.

Oh Govinda is all piano, flutes and syrupy strings in a dull ode to the Hindu deity. The gods deserve better than this.

How often do we hear top-loaded albums that fizzle out after the first three or four tracks? Not the case here, as Golden Avatar keeps the best for last. Time For Going Home is not only the best track within the context of the LP, but deserves wider recognition for the scope of its ambition and its mesmerising groove. Sounds from nature, a simple hypnotic acoustic guitar riff, a shadowing copycat bass line and droning hurdy gurdy set us up for a real head-nodder of a track. Cassidy turns in the album's strongest vocal, imbuing his performance with a trance-like, languid spirituality. Masterfully orchestrated horns create a filmic sense of drama before a killer Moog solo transports us to joyous chants of Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Rama accompanied by finger bells and some urgent funky drumming. After six and a half minutes, I'm so elated that I want to shave my head and wear a sheet, but I guess that's the general idea. This track is the reason why I'll always hang onto this LP, and the reason why you should rescue it from charity shop ignominy.

Songs For Gay Dogs

Saw this in a charity shop today. The record was too trashed to be worth a punt, but I doubt I'm missing much. Besides, I'm more of a cat kind of a guy.

Building A Custom Plinth For A Thorens TD 150 Mk II

About eighteen months ago I picked up a shabby-looking Thorens TD 150 Mk II turntable. It came with an SME 3009 Series II Improved tonearm (fixed headshell) which was missing its rider rod, the rider weight and fingerlift. I paid £210 for the whole shebang - about what you might expect to pay for the arm on its own. I soon got hold of the missing components for the arm, but the turntable sat neglected in its tired, ugly plinth until May of this year when I finally gave in to the urge to prod it with the pretty stick.

Vendor's ebay photo of my unloved Thorens TD150 MkII

The original plinth on the Thorens TD 150 is, to my eyes, inadequate - both structurally and aesthetically - for such an iconic turntable. This particular one was in a particularly scruffy state. I figured that, if I could make a picture frame (which I can), then making a new plinth for a turntable shouldn't be beyond my limited DIY skills. Next stop, ebay, where I found some pre-planed lengths of American Black Walnut.

20 mm-thick American Black Walnut

Concerned that I'd forget which parts of the turntable's innards went where when piecing it all back together, I took dozens of photos of each component from every conceivable angle before beginning the process of dismantling the turntable. You can't be too careful!

The TD150's innards

It took me a while to work out that the screws that secure the turntable to the plinth are located under the aluminium top-plate on the Thorens. And even longer to find out how to remove the top-plate to get at them. Uncharacteristically, I didn't resort to brute force, but searched patiently online for a solution. It turns out that the upper and lower plates of the TD150 are held together with double-sided tape. Its grip showed no signs of having weakened with the passing years, but heating the aluminium with a hairdryer liquefied the adhesive on the tape and allowed the two plates to be slowly and carefully prised apart. Slowly, because the thin top plate could easily crease or bend if rushed.

Using a hairdryer to loosen the grip of double sided tape

I fitted a new blade to my mitre saw in anticipation of the walnut being heavy going, but nothing could have prepared me for the iron-like density of this timber. This is why the DIY gods invented power tools - shame then that my mitre saw is powered by sweat and expletives. It did the job though - eventually. A framers' guillotine was then used to remove wafer-thin slices of walnut from the mitred timber to ensure a good clean, accurate join, and the parts were glued and clamped.

Assembled plinth glued and clamped

For simplicity's sake I made the plinth with the same internal dimensions as the original, albeit with higher (90mm), and thicker (20mm) sides. With hindsight I should have made it a few centimetres wider to accommodate a larger armboard and to give the SME tonearm a bit more room to breathe, but that's a minor quibble.

Once the main body had been assembled and clamped, I used the triangular off cuts that resulted from cutting those 45 degree mitre joints to brace and strengthen the plinth. These were cut to an appropriate length and glued in place. After allowing 12 hours for the glued joints to dry, using the layout of the original plinth as a guide, I cut lengths of 10mm pine stripwood and glued and nailed them in place to provide the necessary support for the top-plate. Once dry, I dropped the turntable into its new plinth and - surprise, surprise - it fit.

Trying the plinth for size

The next stage was to use fine sandpaper and wire wool to give a really smooth finish to the timber. Once the surface was prepared, I applied natural Danish Oil with a cloth to bring out the beauty of the grain. I allowed six hours' drying time between each of the five coats and used a fine sandpaper on the plinth between applications, finally buffing with a cloth to give a warm satin finish to the wood.

Braces and batons

Corner brace

Building up the layers of Danish oil

I replaced the original flimsy baseboard with a piece of 6mm MDF. This improves the structural integrity of the plinth and, as a result, the sonics of the turntable. I could probably have used an even thicker piece of MDF, but that's something that I can easily change down the line. I discarded the original black rubber washers that were masquerading as feet and opted instead for height-adjustable conical metal spikes. They look great and make the turntable easy to level.

Conical turntable isolation foot

I drilled two holes in the rear of the plinth for the power lead and arm cable. On the original plinth the leads were fed through holes in the baseboard, but I was looking for a tidier and more elegant finish. Then I went to work on the platter,  giving it a thorough going over with T-Cut metal polish before buffing with a soft cloth. I opted to keep the original arm-lowering knob on the turntable, even though it's disconnected and surplus to requirements, because, well, why not! It lends balance to the over-all look.

Ideally, I would like an armboard made from the same walnut as the plinth. I've earmarked a piece with a particularly attractive rippled grain, but I don't have the right tools to accurately cut the timber. For now, I'll make do with the original armboard, even though it's looking past its best - not helped by the fact that I used acetone to clean off some dirt and sticky residue and removed part of the black lacquered finish in the process!

Piece of walnut earmarked for the new armboard (with the original)

I recently acquired a new platter weight, with integral spirit level, from a seller in Germany. I had to adjust the suspension on the Thorens to allow for the added weight, but it sets the turntable off nicely and tightens up the sound.

Platter stabilizer weight with integral spirit level

The SME came fitted with an ADC 10E MkIV moving magnet cartridge when I bought it. This is a great little cart, but I have no idea how many hours are on it, or how it had been treated by its former owner. The fact that he was using the arm without the rider weight may hint at the stylus having uneven wear. Being incapable of leaving my equipment alone (!), I had to try a Moving Coil cartridge on the Thorens, just for a comparison. Unfortunately, it sounds so damned good that I don't want to take it off. I had intended using it with my Linn Sondek, but am having second thoughts now. The cartridge in question is an Audio Technica AT-F5 OCC. And it's lush!

Audio Technica AT-F5 OCC and disc stabilizer

At some point, I plan to have a  Perspex dust cover custom-built to finish the turntable off. For what was intended as a cheap back-up turntable to play some of my more beat-up records, this is turning into a rather serious project. The performance of the TD150 since I nursed it back to health is beyond anything I could have imagined. I'm beginning to understand why so many people hold these turntables in such high regard.

Linn Sondek LP12 alongside Thorens TD150 MkII

Vinyl (Window) Shopping in Italy

You go to Italy for the culture, the food and wine, the architecture, the sunshine, the dramatic hand gestures, the excellent standard of driving, not to buy records. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, record shops are very thin on the ground, and secondly, vinyl (when you can find it) is expensive. Holy shit, is it expensive!

This summer, the Shelf-Stacker clan hit Puglia, deep in Italy's heel. I was resigned to a two week vinyl detox - not a great hardship considering everything else this beautiful country has to offer - but I nevertheless managed to stumble upon two record shops. One (Detroit Rock City in Gallipoli) was closed, the other (Discoshop Detommaso in Monopoli) might as well have been. Not that it isn't a great little shop, but the UK's weak pound, courtesy of the Brexit vote, hasn't exactly taken the edge off the crazy vinyl prices in Italy. Discoshop's owner handed me a delicious stack of under-the-counter vinyl porn including titles by Le Orme, Premiata Forneria Marconi, Banco del Mutuo Soccorso, Franco Battiato, Claudio Rocchi, New Trolls and Saint Just. Most of these rare LPs - all original pressings - I'd never seen in the flesh before, but with prices ranging from 40 euros to 2,000 euros - ouch! - I had to walk away. However, not before the owner obligingly spun a copy of Il Balletto di Bronzo's Ys LP for me (500 euros if I remember correctly). I knew straight away that I needed to own a copy of the LP. Not that copy, obviously. I've since settled for a 2014 reissue which is sonically stunning and with meticulously reproduced gatefold artwork.

Ignore any reviews you've read comparing Ys to Emerson Lake & Palmer - lazy comparisons like that are as likely to turn people off as steer them towards this classic album. Sure, there is keyboard virtuosity throughout, but Il Balletto di Bronzo's LP is considerably more focused and experimental than anything ELP ever released, avoiding any of the Benny The Bouncer / Are You Ready Eddy?-style knockabouts that sullied many of ELP's albums. If you love challenging progressive rock with a psychedelic twist, this one's for you. What struck me most when I first heard Ys is the intensity and focus. That and the phenomenal musicianship. God knows what the album's about, but whatever it is, the band really means it. From the run-in on side one to the dead wax on side two the listener is treated to eerie female wailing, a smorgasboard of synths and keyboards from squelching Moog to baroque spinetta and haunted dancehall piano, impassioned vocals minus the stagey theatricality that mars some european progressive music, deeply hypnotic bass grooves, urgent snare-fixated drumming, trippy stereo panning, angular guitar lines and searing lead breaks. I love it!

http://www.discoshopmonopoli.com/store/
 

Jonathan Wilson @ Union Chapel 09/06/16

Jonathan Wilson played the final date of his solo acoustic tour on Thursday night at the Union Chapel in Islington, North London. Music aside, the night promised to be something special because it was taking place in what has to be one of the most beautiful venues this country has to offer. The Union Chapel is a concert venue, arts centre, homeless project and - yes - a fully-functioning church. There is something quite magical about experiencing music in a space dominated by a rose window, flickering candles and a gothic pulpit. Whether you're a believer or not, the environment lends a spiritual ambience to proceedings that the average sticky-floored bingo hall is sorely lacking.

Filling the Special Guest slot for Wilson's tour was LA-based singer-songwriter Omar Velasco who uses a foot-operated sampler to create loops of his own playing, creating a fuller and more involving sound than you might expect from one man and an acoustic guitar. Velasco's songs offer a Latino slant on the Laurel Canyon sound that informs much of Wilson's repertoire. Hardly surprising as Velasco's day job is that of Wilson's right-hand man in his full electric touring band.

Although billed as solo and acoustic, Jonathan Wilson was variously supported by a string quartet and sidekick Velasco for much of his performance, allowing him to switch between acoustic guitar, telecaster and piano. For the first of two encores, the legendary Roy Harper joined Wilson onstage. If locked down Californian jam band grooves, rural hippie funk and David Gilmouresque guitar are your bag, you owe it to yourself to give Jonathan Wilson a listen.

There was a scrum for the merchandise stand after the gig, largely because of the promise of a seven inch single featuring a pair of tracks (Your Ears Are Burning / Sing To You) from Wilson's 2007 CDr-only release Frankie Ray. Limited to just 300 copies, all signed by Wilson, I'm chuffed to have one in my paws.

AKARMA Records - Buyers' Guide

The subject of vinyl reissues is a thorny one. I've stated my ambivalence towards them before in these pages, but whatever their shortcomings, there's no escaping the fact that, unless you have bottomless pockets, seeking out original copies of every rare LP on your wishlist is a non-starter. Thankfully there are small, independent labels offering us the chance to get hold of albums (the originals of which were often released in miniscule quantities) in our favoured format, for twenty quid or less. Is it too much to ask that these labels find good quality audio sources for their reissues, put some effort into reproducing the original artwork, and pay the musicians their royalties?

One label whose name crops up regularly in debates over the pros and cons of vinyl reissues is Akarma. Confusion reigns over whether Akarma is a legitimate label, or a shady, money-grabbing enterprise dealing in pirate pressings. Interestingly, Discogs doesn't list Akarma releases as unofficial, but that shouldn't necessarily be taken as proof that the label is whiter than white. From what I understand, because the label is based in Italy, where a quirk of copyright law means that Akarma is not operating illegally by reissuing LPs without the copyright holder's permission, the label is 'legitimate'. However, acting within the law and being morally upstanding are not necessarily the same thing. There are numerous reports of artists complaining that their albums have been re-released without permission or remuneration of royalties. Sadly, the modest quantities of product shifted by small, independent labels makes chasing them through the courts financially unviable, particularly if they are based in another country.

To add to the uncertainty over the true nature of Akarma, Discogs includes a label profile written by Jo-Ann Greene for GOLDMINE, May 12, 2006 (Vol 32. No 10 . Issue 673), which reads more like an Akarma press release than an objective journalistic appraisal of the label. At no point in her piece does Greene address the legitimacy of Akarma's releases or the sources that it uses to master its reissues, preferring to give marketing manager, Guglielmo Pizzinelli, a platform for a spot of unchallenged, self-serving PR.

In a typically gushing statement, Greene asserts that you "can’t appreciate the beauty and the attention to detail involved until you actually encounter Akarma vinyl," and that "the label has gained as many high marks for art work as for the equally high-caliber remasterings, with Akarma’s releases instantly identifiable by their sheer beauty alone." I'm sure Pizzinelli couldn't have said it any better himself. What a bunch of sycophantic guff! No wonder then that record buyers continue to be confused about the legitimacy of Akarma's releases and the quality of their pressings.

Perhaps it's unfair to single out Akarma for criticism, as they are just one of the many players in the dubious reissues field, particularly as, to their credit, the packaging on their LPs is often of a remarkable quality: every nuance of the original artwork faithfully reproduced, right down to textured sleeves and embossed lettering. They put more effort into providing a desirable, tactile product than most of the major labels. It's just a shame that the reproduction of the music rarely matches up to the quality of the packaging.

Although I have every sympathy with musicians who find themselves stiffed by record companies, as a record collector, my overriding concern is for the quality of the product that is offered for sale. If the major labels were more on the ball, and weren't so contemptuous of both artists and customers, they could kill off dodgy reissue labels overnight by putting out legitimate, high-quality pressings of the many obscure albums that music fans are crying out for. A market clearly exists. Whether this would result in a steady stream of royalties for the artists is doubtful, but at least the record-buying public might get to hear reissues mastered from the original analogue tapes or, at the very least, from hi-resolution digital files, instead of from dodgy CDs or via knackered vinyl needledrops.

Buying Akarma releases is a lottery: I own one or two that, in the absence of an original pressing for comparison, are hard to fault; others are borderline unlistenable. Which of Akarma's releases is worth buying, and which should be avoided? With their large and highly desirable catalogue, there's plenty of scope for chucking cash away on a complete turkey. Please, if any owners of Akarma LPs are reading this and could take the time to leave a comment about specific titles, this post might serve as a buyers' guide for the label: a one-stop database for fellow vinyl enthusiasts interested in finding out about Akarma's mastering and pressing quality. I'll start the ball rolling with details of the titles that I own. I hope you find it useful.

Arcadium - Breathe Awhile

Single, heavy card sleeve. A nice clean, quiet pressing, but cut 'hot', so it's a pretty shrill listening experience.

Bodkin - Bodkin

Single sleeve housed in an elaborate and utterly ludicrous six panel cardboard crucifix featuring a burning goat. Plays well enough, but the source used for the master is very noisy, especially on B1. I'd happily forego the over-the-top packaging in exchange for decent sound.

Buffalo - Only Want You For Your Body

Gatefold sleeve with lyric insert. Decent sound reproduction, if a little 'flat' and digital sounding.

Earth and Fire - Earth and Fire

Gatefold sleeve. Sound is very good, but a bit brittle and digital.

Felt - Felt

Single sleeve. The sound quality is great on this LP, but there is a noticeable wow on the second of the four tracks on side one. The stylus sits rocksteady in the groove, so I assume the wow originates in the playback of whatever source Akarma used. Shoddy!

Indian Summer - Indian Summer

Gatefold sleeve. Fantastic sound. If it's a digital source, Akarma have done a good job of warming it up for vinyl. There seems to be a slight bias in output to the left channel in parts. Recommended!

Leaf Hound - Growers of Mushroom

Gatefold sleeve. Decent sound reproduction, if a little 'flat' and digital.

Room - Pre-Flight

Single sleeve. Clear, dynamic, warm airy sound. If it's not from an analogue source then whoever transferred it from digital did an impressive job. Recommended!

Salem Mass - Witch Burning

Textured single sleeve. Despite buying this new and sealed, my copy has noticeable distortion on A2 and A3, and the over all sound is a bit lean.

Still Life - Still Life

Gatefold sleeve. Nice clean pressing and convincingly fat and analogue-esque sound reproduction. Recommended!

Wizard - The Original Wizard

Textured single sleeve with textured band biog insert. Good clear, rich sound reproduction. Recommended!

Writing On The Wall - The Power of the Picts

Textured, silvered single sleeve. Nice, clean pressing. An enjoyable listen, but lacks the depth and warmth you'd expect from vinyl. A digital transfer no doubt! Cautiously recommended.

Zior - Zior

Gatefold sleeve. Sound repro is a bit 'hot' and 'toppy'.

PLEASE share your experiences of Akarma vinyl. Thanks!

Back In Black

In case anyone out there was wondering, I haven't abandoned my blog. I've been busy with other writing and just haven't found the time. But, with so many of my musical heroes checking out recently, I feel bad about not marking their passing. Lemmy and Phil 'Philthy Animal' Taylor, David Bowie, Paul Kantner, Chris Squire, Glen Frey, Jimmy Bain, Michael Brown, Daevid Allen, Demis Roussos... the list goes on. And I'm not joking about Demis Roussos being a hero either - have you ever heard Aphrodite's Child's 666 album? - a nightmarish psych-prog classic. This is my French pressing with the Vertigo swirl labels. Lovely!

Keep my blog bookmarked; I'll be back soon.